Here it is boys and gals, I’m Bruce Wayne before he staggered onto Rhaz Al-Guhl’s front doorstep. I’m Tony Stark before stereotypical terrorists kidnapped him and he got a bomb tucked into his chest. I’m Oliver Queen before he fucked his girflriend’s sister and his boat got blown up and he ended up on an island and spent 5 years trying to keep his organs under his ribs.
I don’t know if any of these origin stories are accurate, and I don’t care – because I’m about to embark on my own origin story. My deadline is March 19th and my nemesis is the Spartan Super – a 10 mile run into the Nevada desert with obstacles like swingy ropes and slippy high walls and spikey low wires and sticky deep mud. I’m intimidated as hell.
I’ve never had to train for anything before. I was born with a four leaved clover shoved up my ass: everything in life has always come easy, so looking at this obstacle course and making the decision to work for it is a ruthless attack on my personality. I’m shitting on all the horseshoes and wishbones and 777s in my life. I’m foregoing luck and evolving into work and the more I talk about it the more I wonder why.
But then I remember. It’s time to 1UP. It’s time to evolve. It’s time to super.
I’ve got about 2 months to get my body prepped. To grind up my level before facing my first boss battle. Workout every day and sometimes twice a day. Running and calisthenics and weight lifting and so god help me I need to start fucking stretching.
Follow me on this journey because if I’m gonna work this hard I better get some damn recognition for it.